


Never Be The Lonely One

by daisysusan, formerlydf



Category: Olympics RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Multi, Orgy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisysusan/pseuds/daisysusan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/formerlydf/pseuds/formerlydf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Liam has been recruited by Team Great Britain to run at the Olympics, but none of that is quite as important as how much his bandmates miss him. Or the fact that he's having sex with Tom Daley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Be The Lonely One

**Author's Note:**

> This all began because of Tom Daley's abs. Or, I guess, it began because we were talking with [harriet_vane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/harriet_vane/pseuds/harriet_vane) about what would happen if Liam, for whatever random and totally unrealistic reason, was asked to take a break from being in a world-famous boyband in order to go back to running the 1500 m. FOR HIS COUNTRY. Which naturally led both to a discussion of how his bandmates would miss him ridiculously and a mention of the fact that he would CLEARLY have to be banging Tom Daley, which... somehow led to us round-robining porn at each other. You know, as one does.
> 
> Basically, what we're saying is: we were drunk on the Olympics and orgies happened. Whoops.
> 
> Thanks to Rachel for cheering every time more of this insanity showed up in her email inbox; thanks to [misprinting](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chathoi/pseuds/Misprinting) for valiantly beta-ing and britpicking and saying nice things instead of just pointing and laughing. 
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything in this story is really really really really not true, but is fun to think about nonetheless. Title from "Hold Me Tight," by the Beatles.

Watching Liam run and screaming his name from the stands until he’s hoarse and in serious danger of fucking up their closing ceremony performance is nowhere near as satisfying as getting to throw himself across Liam’s bed for no reason other than that he just kind of wants to cuddle. 

This is Harry’s justification for missing Liam, even though they did actually see him yesterday, cheered him on and hugged him after too. It’s just not the same! He’s not being ridiculous, he asked Louis and Louis agreed with him—Athlete Liam is all focus and training and determined eyes, kind of like X Factor Liam but with better hair and a lot more muscles. And better smiles, too, because his whole face lights up when he sees them in the stands. 

So basically Harry misses Liam and so does everyone else, and sometimes Louis and Zayn come up with ideas that are terrible but also amazing. And things kind of spiral.

Surprisingly enough, sneaking into the Athlete’s Village is far less difficult than Harry thought it would be. It’s also not quite as sneaky as he was envisioning, given that there are security guards on pretty much all the doors to all the buildings and they get corralled before they can do more than look thoughtfully at the windows. 

It wouldn’t have been a very good idea anyway, Harry thinks. He has enough problems with falling down when he’s standing on the ground.

They don’t get thrown out, though, which is nice. Instead they get asked for ID by about fifteen million people who are apparently all equally suspicious of anyone trying to come see Liam — which is good, they _should_ be suspicious, the last thing Liam needs is some crazy fan trying to sneak in and touch his muscles — and then a few people go away and make a few calls and then come back, and they have a whispered discussion with the security guards who _didn’t_ go away, which involves a lot of serious faces and waved hands. 

“All right, come on, you’re listed as family,” Guard Number One says, the one who wasn’t at all impressed by Harry’s most charming smile. He waves them through three different metal detectors, and then that’s it, they’re through.

“Do you think we can still call ourselves superspies if we didn’t actually sneak in?” Harry asks, frowning, and Louis throws an arm around his shoulder.

“Harry, my boy, we can call ourselves anything we want, because nobody has to know what just happened,” Louis says grandly. “We can tell people that we jumped out of a helicopter and through a window if we like.”

“I think the windows are bulletproof glass,” Zayn says. “I bet.”

Niall looks thoughtful. Harry is almost tempted to make some sort of crack about how Niall generally only looks this thoughtful when he’s trying to decide where to eat, but he’s fairly sure that if they get into a slapfight in the middle of the corridor, security will come find them and throw them out again. They’re not allowed to get thrown out before they get their Liam hugs. “How long has Liam had us listed as family?”

Oh. That’s — interesting.

“I have you all listed as family,” Zayn says, and Harry nearly walks into a door. 

Not that the two things are related. Harry sometimes walks into things when he’s not surprised, and besides, it’s not that big of a surprise, it makes a lot of sense. 

_did you know Zayn and Liam have the band listed as family?_ he texts his mum, just to see if _she’s_ surprised.

Three minutes later, when Louis and Zayn are in the middle of arguing about whether they should go left or right and Niall is laughing at them, she texts back, _sweetheart i’ve had them listed as your family for almost a year_.

“You idiots,” Niall says finally, still snickering a bit between words, “we’re on the wrong floor.”

It takes about ten minutes for them to get themselves righted and in front of Liam’s door; they’re helped along by a few wandering athletes, most of whom are on their way to some party or another. A handful of them smile and talk about Liam really familiarly, like they know him. Like they’re fond of him, even. It’s not that Harry didn’t know that people liked Liam—of course people like Liam, Liam is great; that’s why they’re sneaking into the Athlete’s Village to try and find him—but aren’t Niall and Harry the ones who like to run around meeting new people? Did Liam spend time making friends instead of training all the time because the rest of them weren’t around to drag him off to have fun?

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Liam should absolutely have Olympic friends. He’s just going to have to explain to them how he met the entire German men’s gymnastics team. Especially given that all of them seem to be on their way to an orgy.

If they came all this way to see Liam and he’s off somewhere having an orgy, Harry is going to be very vexed. If the orgy doesn’t involve them, at least.

Um. 

But then Liam has his door locked. Liam _has his door locked_.

That could mean anything, this is the Olympic village, he could have the entire US men’s swim team in his room for some type of wild drug- and alcohol-induced rave/orgy/thing. 

Okay, he’s probably not doing that, they would be able to hear it. And also the Olympics can’t have changed him that much, he’s still stupid, sensible Liam. That doesn’t appear to have stopped Louis from beating against the door without bothering to identify himself. Liam’s probably going to think they’ve come to kill him. 

He answers the door, though, making the unforgivably charming frowny face Harry’s so familiar with as he does, and he looks—disheveled, maybe? His hair is mussed, curling at the ends, and his shirt is twisted around his torso. Harry catches Niall’s eye and they frown at each other; maybe he wasn’t as far off as he’d thought with the rave/orgy/thing. 

“Oh,” Liam says, sounding considerably less excited than he ought to. “Erm, hi?”

“We’re here to rescue you!” Niall says, and Liam’s frown deepens.

“From what?”

“From me, I imagine,” a wry voice says from within the room. 

Well. Harry huffs a little and briefly considers just glaring in the general direction of the voice until its own leaves. That probably won’t work, though—there’s certainly very little that would make _him_ inclined to leave a slightly rumpled Liam in a bedroom with someone else. 

“Right,” Louis says, “we’re coming in.” 

“What? No you’re not—” Liam tries to protest, but he can’t keep the door mostly-closed when all of them are trying to push their way in. It only takes about half a minute before they’re all in the room, surrounding Liam protectively and looking suspiciously to see who’s been keeping him company.

Lying on the bed, half upright against the wall, is Tom Daley. He looks about as disheveled as Liam, hair sticking up more than it did on the telly and there’s a spot on the side of his neck that looks like the beginning of a lovebite. 

“You snuck a boy up to your room!” Louis crows, and Harry cannot tell for the life of him whether he’s pleased or hurt. 

“I—no I didn’t, there was no sneaking,” Liam says. “My roommates all left, it wasn’t sneaking.”

“There was a little bit of sneaking,” Tom says, grinning a bit evilly. Harry can’t say he doesn’t like the look. “Remember the German men’s gymnastics team?”

Louis is opening his mouth again, but Liam cuts him off by speaking. He’s got good at that over the last couple of years. “Why are you here? It can’t be to rescue me, there’s nothing to rescue me _from_.”

“Did you hear how many condoms they bought for the athletes?” Louis asks. “We needed to protect you from someone who might make a mess upon your innocence.”

Liam actually cringes, and Harry cannot blame him at all. Niall sniggers a bit, and Zayn’s probably rolling his eyes. Tom just looks amused, like he has for this entire conversation.

“Really, Louis?” Liam says. 

Louis ignores him completely, which is probably the best course of action. There’s no defense for what he just said, so. “And you needed it, too! A strange boy in your room, god knows what his intentions are.”

“But at least he won’t be getting any STDs,” Niall points out helpfully, which just makes everyone glare at him. 

“Whose side are you on?” Harry demands.

Niall shrugs. “Look, it was a lot of condoms. I’m just saying.”

Liam’s been going progressively redder during the discussion of condoms, and he finally makes an attempt to change the subject by saying, weakly, “It is nice to see you all.”

Zayn smiles widely at him. “I missed you, mate.”

“We all did,” Harry adds, because Zayn was definitely the mopiest but that doesn’t mean the rest of them weren’t pining as well. 

Normally they would all hug at this point, throw themselves across each other, but there’s Tom and whatever he and Liam were doing on the bed before the rest of them showed up and that’s changed things, somehow. Liam’s swaying from foot to foot uncertainly between Tom on the bed and the rest of them clustered around the doorway. 

“So,” Liam says after a long moment, glancing resignedly back at Tom, “this is my band?”

“And they apparently can’t go more than forty-eight hours without seeing you,” Tom says, but he doesn’t sound angry or confused, he sounds kind of amused. Charmed, maybe. 

“They’re not—well, no, they are like this normally,” Liam says. “Sorry.”

“Me too, honestly,” Tom says, wrinkling his nose for a split second before going back to smiling. “I should go, I guess. They clearly have plans for you.”

“I had plans for _you_ ,” Liam mutters under his breath—Harry nearly gets whiplash from how quickly he doubletakes—but he nods and Tom swings off the bed. Harry’s pretty curious about what those plans were, honestly, but Tom’s heading toward the door so it’s unlikely he’ll get to experience them firsthand. 

Niall takes advantage of the now-empty bed by throwing himself across it, curling against the pillows. Harry wants to join him, snuggle against him and tuck his head into the crook of Niall’s shoulder, but that would mean stepping farther away from Liam—and Tom, but mostly Liam. He compromises by perching on the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to lean forward and watch whatever’s about to play out between Tom and Liam.

“Say goodbye, at least?” Tom asks, a dimple flashing and disappearing in his cheek as he grins. That’s not fair; Harry’s the only one supposed to use his dimples for evil. That’s the rules. Well, okay, it’s not, but it should be the rules.

“I will see you later,” Liam says, but he walks over to the door and brushes his lips lightly over Tom’s.

“Yeah, but later isn’t now,” Tom says, one hand sliding onto Liam’s shoulder as the other wraps around the back of Liam’s neck. Harry’s suddenly glad he didn’t give in and sacrifice the best view to cuddle with Niall. “Come on, one more for the road? I am a bronze medalist, you know, I think I—”

Liam laughs and shuts him up with a kiss; it starts out as light as the other but Tom clearly has other plans, because he pulls Liam forward until they’re pressed against each other, thighs to chest. They take a few uncoordinated steps, and then Tom’s back is against the door and Liam’s pushing him into it, kissing him hard. 

It's not possible to live anywhere in Great Britain and not have realized Tom Daley is fit, not at this point—his abs were at least half the content of the pre-Olympic coverage, but knowing he's fit and watching him get pressed against the door with Liam's tongue in his mouth are. Well. Really, really different.

At least as far as Harry's dick is concerned. 

He thinks he probably ought to want to be able to tear his eyes from the way Liam has his hands on Tom's hips but, honestly, he's pretty happy staring. At least he's in good company, anyway. Zayn doesn't look like he's even really capable of speech, although he might just be worried that if he says anything it'll stop happening. Zayn has always had better luck with sex when he didn't talk.

Tom must be a good kisser, though, because he's managed to distract Liam from being mortified, which is honestly something they thought only they could do (even if they are generally the ones mortifying him in the first place). Liam doesn't even look like he's noticed Louis filming both of them, he's so busy sliding his hands under Tom's shirt —

and damn, why did none of them know that Liam's got moves?

Niall's the first one to say something out loud, whispering "That's really hot" when Tom arches up into—into whatever it is that Liam's doing under his shirt. 

They can all hear the soft noises, whimpers and soft moans and occasional sharp gasps, and Harry just—he wants to touch, but he doesn't want them to stop kissing, either. He squirms a little, trying to shift himself inconspicuously. It apparently doesn't work, because Louis touches his arm and then smirks slightly when their eyes meet. 

Tom groans, and Harry is never going to be able to listen to the BBC talking about the noises he makes while diving ever again. He's already resigned to the fact that he's never going to be able to watch any more diving competitions without thinking of the way Tom's stomach is trembling now, the way he lets his hands move up to tangle in Liam's hair so that he can wrap a leg around Liam's hip.

“Stay,” Liam mumbles into Tom’s skin, pressing kisses against his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “Stay, please just stay—”

Tom’s eyes close as he says, “God, yes, I was hoping you’d ask,” and then they’re kissing again, Tom biting at Liam’s lower lip before pulling him closer.

Right, so. Tom is staying. Tom and Liam are having sex. Harry thinks he can get behind this.

"Er," Liam says, dragging himself away from Tom's mouth with a soft whine on both their parts, "you're going to need to get off the bed."

"Do we have to?" Harry says, pouting. If they stay on the bed, yeah, it'll be crowded, but they'll be able to touch, they'll be right there and able to see all the details of what Liam and Tom are doing to each other. 

Liam opens his mouth, but Tom cuts him off. "It's fine," he says. "I don't care, just get the fuck on with it."

Harry squirms out of the way in a hurry, ending up mostly in Zayn's lap, and Tom presses Liam down into the mattress next to them. 

There's a sharp intake of breath, maybe from Niall, and then Harry's distracted by the way Tom is scraping his hands under Liam's shirt, tugging it off him and then—jesus—biting at his collarbone.

"You're getting bossy," Liam murmurs, sounding pleased, as he lets his head drop into the pillows. Harry lets out a soft whimper and leans back, letting Zayn wrap an arm around his waist. He glances over to see that Louis and Niall are similarly sprawled across each other on the other side of the bed, Louis's hand absently drifting up and down Niall's side. 

"And you," Tom says, in between working on what's shaping up to be a fantastic lovebite, "promised me something after I finished my events, and I would very much like for that to happen." 

He smiles into the skin of Liam's chest. Liam laughs and gets his hands under Tom's shirt again, pushing it up until Tom sits back just long enough to drag it over his head.

It is really not fair that there are so many fantastic bodies in this bed and Harry is barely touching any of them, but Zayn's arm is still pressing him down and he thinks he should hold off for a bit. Just until he finds out what it was Liam promised Tom.

Zayn starts kissing down the side of Harry's neck, and he tilts his head for access, wriggling his hips a little until Zayn nips lightly at his earlobe and hisses for him to focus.

Which turns out to be good advice, because it looks a lot like what Liam promised Tom was a really impressive blowjob; he's flipped them over and is kissing and licking his way down Tom's chest, swirling his tongue around one nipple and then the other. Harry's got no idea what's going on with Louis and Niall except that Niall just let out a soft keening noise and Harry really wants to hear it again and then swallow it right out of his mouth. 

Harry's already so hard he can barely see straight by the time Liam is licking around the head of Tom's cock, and, god, is this really happening, is he really watching Liam suck Tom Daley off while Zayn's fingers edge toward the front of his trousers? His hips jerk up suddenly when Zayn's hand ghosts across his dick, even though too many layers of clothes, and then Tom's making this noise that's half a whine and half a moan, and Harry really, really wants to know what Liam can do with his tongue.

Harry grinds back into Zayn's lap as Zayn unbuttons his jeans, his chin resting on Harry's shoulder so they can both see. Tom started out the blowjob trying to keep his hips pressed to the bed but he's obviously given up on that, by the way his hips are jerking up even under Liam's hold. "God, Liam," he moans, "Liam, Liam, Liam—"

The four of them all have their own separate ways to say Liam's name whenever they want something, different intonations and tempos — Harry has been informed by Zayn that his own is glacially slow — but there's a specific way of curling their tongues around the syllables that they all have, heavy on the Li and dragging on the yummmm. It happens with all of their names, and it sounds, Harry realises now, like they've practised, spending significant amounts of time just saying that name over and over again. Tom sounds a little more desperate, a little more wrecked, than they ever have in the past, but he sounds like he's practised, too.

Harry might have to consider more on that subject later, but for now Zayn is unzipping his jeans and it's a bit distracting.

Liam pulls off just long enough to bite at Tom's thigh before moving back, wrapping his lips around Tom's cock with the familiar expression of concentration he gets when he wants to do something well. Tom doesn't last long with that kind of single-minded focus on him. Harry can't blame him; he's pretty sure he would have been gone ages ago, no matter how long he tried to hang on. The way Zayn's hips are moving suggests that he might feel the same way. It's nice to know they have so much in common with an Olympic athlete.

Liam pulls off slowly, looking up to meet Tom's eyes, and the moment is charged until Niall hisses, "Ow! Your teeth are sharp, you bastard!" and Liam cracks up, muffling his laughter against Tom's stomach.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he explains in between giggles. "It's just — god, it's been two weeks, and we're at the Olympics, and I'm at the Olympics, and I'm pretty sure your abs are a trending topic on Twitter, honestly, and we're in bed and my bandmates are here and — it all just seems a bit unreal, you know?"

Tom looks so fond as he smiles at Liam, reaching down to pull Liam further up the bed. "You're saying this to someone lying in bed with five millionaire popstars," he says when Liam is face-to-face with him again.

"Oi, we're still here, you know," Louis says. Harry looks over just in time to see Niall slap Louis's arm. "Hey, I'm not the one who ruined the mood by complaining about me biting him—"

"Lads," Zayn says from over Harry's shoulder, his hand still in Harry's jeans, "shut up."

Liam looks like he's about to start laughing again. Before he can start, Tom leans down to kiss his neck, scraping slightly with his teeth before moving up to just behind Liam's ear, then on to kiss the corner of Liam's mouth. "Let's see if we can make you feel a bit more real," he says before he kisses Liam, rolling them over again so he can pin Liam into the mattress. It starts light at first, but Tom presses in like he's trying to win a bloody gold medal or something, one hand sliding into Liam's hair to keep him close. Harry wonders if they've been doing this for a while, coming back to their rooms sweaty and exhausted and worn out from trials and competitions and kissing until they have to drag themselves apart to shower and sleep and eat.

By the time they break for air, Liam doesn't look like he's in danger of laughing again; he looks more like he's in danger of forgetting to breathe. "Feel real yet?" Tom asks.

"I'm... not quite sure," Liam admits, smiling, and Tom suggests, "It might help if you were naked."

Tom has this smile on his face, sweet and charming and winning and kind—Harry needs to learn how to do that—and Harry is not at all surprised when Liam immediately starts unbuttoning his trousers, because no human being could look at that face and say no. 

Or that arse.

It's getting a lot harder to keep from touching, even with Zayn's hand moving slowly in his jeans. Tom and Liam are right there, an arm's length away, and now Tom's tracing Liam's hipbones with his tongue and Harry wants—he wants to reach out and run his fingers down Tom's back, over the curve of his arse, and then leave marks with his fingernails across Liam's hips until he's writhing and desperate. 

He meets Niall's eyes, hazy and blown, and tries to convey his question about whether they can—should—touch or if this is just for watching. Niall's eyes flutter closed when Louis tongues at his neck and bites his shoulder lightly, but he opens them again and nods at Harry. Nearly in unison, they reach forward and rest their hands on the curve of Tom's lower back. He arches into them and, somehow, inexplicably, this small, almost-chaste touch might be the hottest—the most intimate—thing that's happening. 

Liam makes a small noise when Tom's hips pull away from his, but it changes tone when Zayn's hand, the one not down Harry's pants, brushes against his hip. 

"I—" he gasps, and they may never know how that sentence was supposed to end, because that's when Louis unwraps himself from around Niall so he can go snog Liam properly.

"Do you lot do this often?" Tom asks. Harry lets his hand sweep down to appreciate Tom's perfect arse a little more closely. Niall, resettling himself after Louis's abrupt move, brushes his thumb over the top of Tom's hipbone and presses a barely-there kiss to Tom's shoulder.

The slow pressure of Zayn's hand is getting unbearable; Harry wants more, wants to be kissed, wants to feel somebody stretched out underneath him, wants Zayn to move his hand faster, wants Louis to shove off and let the rest of them have a turn at kissing Liam. He tries to resist the urge to cover Zayn's hand with his own.

"No," he says, his voice hitching as Zayn flicks a thumb over the head of his cock. "This is a first."

"Oh," Tom says, and his voice is a little rough. "For me too. Obviously."

That, it turns out, is Harry's breaking point. He takes his hand off Tom's hip, using it to turn Tom's face so that they're kissing, open-mouthed and filthy from the beginning. Their tongues tangle and Harry groans, louder than he really meant to; Zayn just jerks him harder. 

Through everything, Harry manages to keep pulling Tom closer, twisting him off Liam until they're pressed together shoulder to him and there's barely space for Zayn's hand between them. "You seem to be getting on fine by yourself," he says into Harry's ear, with a quick nip at his earlobe as he removes his hand from Harry's pants, which is really emphatically not okay.

Except then Tom rolls his hips hard against Harry's and—that more than makes up for it.

Zayn moves out from behind and partly under Harry, presumably crawling up the bed in search of Liam. Harry uses the free space to sit back on his heels, pulling Tom to straddle his lap. Niall moves to follow, running his hands up and down Tom's sides as he mouths up the side of Tom's neck. Harry wouldn't be at all surprised if they discover tonight that Niall has some sort of oral fixation.Niall putting his mouth all over all of them—the thought is enough to drive Harry a bit mad.

Liam makes this amazing noise into Louis's mouth — or maybe it's Zayn's mouth, Harry can't really see over there — but Harry's a little distracted by the way Tom is grinding down and back, forward against Harry and then back towards Niall. It's fantastic and Harry is pretty sure he's going to come in about two minutes, and then of course Liam manages to tear himself away from Zayn and Louis long enough to say, amused, "Excuse me, I believe the two of you are monopolising my Olympic boyfriend."

Two minutes. Zayn and Louis couldn't have distracted him for two bloody minutes? Harry is so close. But Tom lights up, pressing one last kiss to Harry's lips and turning to ask, "Your Olympic boyfriend, am I?"

Liam, in a bed with five other boys in varyious states of undress, Liam who was getting felt up less than thirty seconds ago, blushes. "Er," he says. "I mean, it was sort of — that is, we've just spent a lot of time together and everything, I didn't mean —"

"So are you my Olympic boyfriend or my popstar boyfriend?" Tom asks, grinning even as he snakes his hand into Harry's boxers.

Liam smiles back, biting his lip, and says, "Er, whichever you like, I suppose. Or both?" 

He edges forward, somehow squeezing himself between Harry and Niall to kiss Tom. Harry can see how they're both smiling into the kiss; it is actually so adorable it hurts. 

Louis and Zayn are crowding towards them, clearly wanting to be included and there's really no way this ends well, they can't all be pressed up against each other without it going horribly awry. Cute as it is to watch Liam and Tom make eyes at each other, Harry desperately wants to get off. Tom's hand is moving against him, too slow and too light for him to come any time this century, and if all he's focused on is Liam, that's okay.

But, again, Harry would really like to not have to resort to wanking when there are five mostly-naked boys in the same bed as him. 

Luckily, Niall seems to have come to the same conclusion about spreading out a little bit, because he stops sucking against the back of Tom's neck and turns around, pinning Zayn against the bed and kissing him thoroughly. Louis, understandably, is completely distracted from whatever he had planned.

Now it's looking upsettingly like Harry might have to take care of himself, Christ.

Liam and Tom are busy being adorable, in a sexy sort of way, and also being boyfriends, apparently, which Harry is okay with as long as Liam realises that he has four other boyfriends who broke into the Olympic Village for him. They may not have announced themselves at his boyfriends — which seems a bit silly now, they could have been doing this for ages already — but still, Olympic Village.

The point, though, is that Harry is being completely cockblocked by all the arseholes in bed with him and he is very annoyed about this.

Oh, wait, Louis isn't doing anything other than trying to decide whether he wants to stare at Liam and Tom or Niall and Zayn. Harry should always try to make sure that he has orgies with an evenly divisible number of people from now on. "Louis," he says, reaching out to grab Louis's hand and tug him across the bed. "Louis, pay attention to me."

Louis grins evilly and catches Harry's eye, but those are just the indications he heard, not necessarily that he's actually going to listen. Instead, he leans over Niall and Zayn and presses and series of open-mouth kisses down Niall's spine. When Niall moves into it, Louis sneaks a hand between them and—well, Harry can't see what he's doing perfectly, but judging from the way they move, he's got a hand around their dicks. 

"You bastard," Harry says—groans, really. 

"Patience," Louis says, and he sounds like he's aiming for something grand and expansive but it mostly comes out kind of choked. Harry looks down to realize that Zayn's hand is squeezing Louis's upper thigh, so hard his knuckles are white. 

Tom's hand leaves his dick entirely, without any notice at all, because apparently he'd rather put it in Liam's hair, which—okay, no, Harry understands that entirely, Liam has fantastic hair and he kind of wants to pull it. But a bit of warning would have been nice. 

"Do you have—" Tom says, rough, and Liam nods, indicating the floor vaguely.

"In my bag."

"Right," Tom says, kissing Liam once firmly before crawling off the bed to dig around for, Jesus Christ, for a condom and lube. 

Fuck this, Harry thinks as he shoves his pants down and gets a firm grip around himself, hips jerking involuntarily into his hand as he does. His eyes fall shut—it feels so fucking good to be touched, even if it's his own hand doing it—and it's a surprise when Liam kisses him.

Harry makes a noise into the kiss and Liam pulls away to laugh, which is a ridiculous response because it involves Liam moving away. Harry rectifies it immediately by dragging him back in, pressing their lips together again.

Liam groans really gratifyingly as Harry twists a hand in his hair and bites his bottom lip. He's torn about what to do with his other hand, though; he could either keep wanking or he could touch Liam as much as possible and hope that somebody pays attention to his cock at some point. In the end, it isn't really that difficult of a choice; Liam is right there when he's been gone for two weeks.

(Yes, they saw him yesterday, that isn't the point. Anyway, he wasn't naked yesterday.)

He lifts his hand up to Liam's side and digs his nails in, a bit. It's not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to remind Liam to pay attention. Liam shivers and kisses Harry harder.

"Now whose Olympic boyfriend is being monopolised?" Tom asks, laughing. When Liam pulls away for a second — another awful response, they're really going to have to train him out of that — Tom adds, "Oh, don't stop on my account."

He slides behind Liam, one hand reaching around while the other hand trails down to Liam's arse. Liam hums and goes back to kissing Harry, finally, finally, putting a hand on Harry's cock.

Harry's totally focused on Liam, now, on the way his hand is moving up and down and the way he's licking into Harry's mouth—or he is until Liam gasps against his mouth and it sounds a lot like "Tom." He pulls away from their kiss to hook his chin over Liam's shoulder, staring intently at the way Tom is slipping a finger into Liam, slowly. 

"Fuck," Louis says, low but audible over Liam's slow intake of breath. Harry can't—he just can't even look at them, right now, can't focus on the way that Niall and Zayn are kissing messily with Louis's hand between them because he'll come instantly and, nice as that would be, he wants to hold on just a bit longer and watch Tom fuck Liam. 

He jerks against Liam just thinking about it, and then presses a soft kiss to the side of Liam's neck. It's kind of overwhelming, yeah? And even if Tom and Liam have done this before—why weren't the rest of them invited, fuck—having them all there is new and, well. Harry wants him to feel comfortable. He wants all of them to feel comfortable, so they can do this again tomorrow and the day after that and every night they're on tour and—Harry cuts himself off. It doesn't do to aim so high you're certain to be disappointed.

Besides, Liam's hand is going still on his cock and he wants to know why.

The answer, it turns out, is that Tom has got two fingers inside Liam and is fucking them in and out, slow and tortuous, and Liam is pushing back into it, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Harry's having trouble remembering to breathe just watching them. He slips a hand around Liam to rest on his arse, stroking at the smooth skin and enjoying the way Liam is now pushing himself closer to Harry's hand as well as Tom's. 

"Have you done this before?" he asks before he can think better of it, his voice low and even throatier than normal. "Been fucked, I mean."

Liam shudders in between them, dropping his forehead to rest on Harry's shoulder. His hair is soft and a little sweaty against Harry's skin; Harry's fingers are still tangled in the short waves and he doesn't see any reason to resist the temptation to pet them. Liam certainly plays with Harry's hair often enough. This is payback, or something. 

"Not much," Liam says into Harry's collarbone, his breath hot. "Once or twice. It's hard to—" He stutters to a halt in the middle of the sentence, and Harry looks over Liam's shoulder to see Tom shifting his hand, a small, very slightly smug smile on his face. After a moment or two, Liam finishes, "Hard to be discreet."

"I'm very discreet," Tom offers, twisting his fingers again. Liam lets out a choked noise, and Tom's smile widens. "And," he murmurs, "I'm probably better than they were."

Liam's hips jerk forward so that his cock hits Harry's. Now there's an idea, Harry thinks, reaching towards where Tom dropped the lube. "I'm discreet too," he adds, in case Liam is curious. "And convenient. And very good, I could get references."

Tom leans forward, over Liam's shoulder, and nips at Harry's lower lip. "Just because you're together all the time doesn't mean you're better at fucking him." Harry groans at the way Tom's teeth drag across his skin; Liam groans at the words or maybe Tom's fingers in his arse, who knows, it's fucking hot either way. 

Slicking his hand up is easy enough for Harry, even with Liam's cock hitting his every time either of them moves—and Liam is moving a lot, rocking back onto Tom's fingers—but actually getting a hand around both of them turns out to be difficult. Again, Liam is moving a lot. Not that it's a bad thing, Harry thinks as Liam's dick pushes against him again and there's an all-too-short moment of heat and friction so intense Harry forgets to breathe. 

"Are you ready, babe?" Tom says into Liam's ear; Harry takes advantage of the distraction to get a good grip on Liam's dick, hot and so unbelievably hard, curving against Liam's stomach. 

"God yes," Liam says, his voice deeper than Harry's ever heard it, like he gave a blowjob just a few minutes earlier, which, right. That happened. 

And then Liam's face is going slack and Harry moves forward again, watches Tom ease himself into Liam. Everything is so incredibly still; even with his hand around his dick and Liam's, Harry can't move. The slow slide of Tom's cock into Liam's arse is mesmerizing, the way his face tenses up like it's taking every muscle in his body to keep from coming, the tiny noises Liam makes in his throat. 

Tom's first proper thrust in brings out the best noise yet from Liam, a shaky whimper, and it moves his cock against Harry's where they're held together. 

Somehow, thinking that it would feel incredible has nothing on actually experiencing it, the hot slide of skin on skin as Liam whines into his ear in time with Tom's thrusts. Harry tries to focus on moving his hand enough that he and Liam might be able to get off, but it's difficult to tear his eyes away from everything else—Liam, and Tom, and the way Zayn is reaching toward Tom, his hand resting lightly against the curve of Tom's thigh. 

"Can Tom fuck me next?" Louis asks, sounding as hoarse as the rest of them. 

"Only if I get to watch," Liam chokes out, as Harry's hand speeds up despite him not making any conscious effort. Flashing through his mind are pictures of Tom fucking Louis, fucking Zayn, fucking Niall, fucking him, of spreading Tom out on his back and each of them riding his dick, one after the other. 

Tom opens his mouth like he's going to speak but no words come out, just irregular, rough breaths. He nods instead, and Louis grins. "Fantastic! So that'll be next time, then?"

Harry can feel the heat that's been pooling in his stomach starting to spread through his whole body, his fingers tingling with it, and the pictures he's imagining are somehow, incredibly, as good as what's happening in front of him. His grip tightens and he moves his hand faster, relishing the roughness of his skin against Liam's, the way Liam bites down on his shoulder before going totally rigid against him as he comes. 

That's—that's basically it for Harry, the biting and Liam's face and he's been on the verge of this for so long that it's a blessed relief when he curls forward, coming with his face buried in Liam's shoulder.

Tom's thrusts started out steady, but they're becoming wilder and faster, like every time he pulls out even a little he's just counting down the seconds until he can push in again. Liam's panting against Harry's shoulder in rhythm, inhaling as Tom's hips go back and exhaling as he slams forward again. He probably wouldn’t be upright if not for Tom's fingers tightening on his hips and Harry propping him up.

Liam pushes back slightly, doing something that Harry doesn't have the perspective or the energy to watch, and Tom shouts and comes.

They stay there, suspended for a few seconds, before Tom slowly starts pulling out. He ties off the condom and pitches it at the bin near the bed; it's convenient placing, and Harry wonders if the Olympic interior decorators planned for this sort of thing when they were trying to figure out how many condoms they'd need for the entire Athlete's Village.

He runs one hand up and down Liam's back and the other over Tom's arm, stroking his thumb over the hard curve of Tom's bicep, before turning to look at his other three bandmates.

They've shifted around since he last looked, and now Louis and Zayn are lying next to each other with Niall between Louis's legs. Zayn's flopped against Louis's shoulder, looking like he's on the verge of falling asleep. 

Louis, though, Louis is gripping the sheets tight with one hand and threading the other through Niall's hair, pulling just a bit. Niall groans a little, and Harry's dick twitches weakly. 

It's all over quickly, though. Louis arches off the bed and Niall grinds hard against it, and they're coming almost simultaneously, Zayn's eyes going wide as he watches. 

Harry wants to do that, sprawl across the bed; it's getting difficult to stay upright. It's getting difficult to stay awake. The bed is comfortable and Louis has good shoulders for sleeping on, it's just—he can't move for the way Liam is leaning on him, too fucked out to move or hold himself upright.

"C'mere," Louis beckons, gesturing weakly, but not to Harry—to Tom. 

The three of them shuffle messily towards Louis, with Tom lying down next to him and curling into the arm Louis wraps around him. 

"Thrown over for the fit bronze medalist," Harry sighs mournfully, although the sentence turns into a yawn midway through. "I see how it is."

The bed's too small for the six of them, really, but Harry, Liam, Louis, Niall, and Zayn are all fairly accustomed to curling up on top of each other to take up as little room as possible, and Tom proves nicely amenable to piling in. They all crawl over each other sleepily, trying to avoid elbows to the gut while also expending as little effort as possible. By the time each of them has got settled and comfortable, they're all tangled together; Harry suspects Niall is actually diagonal somewhere beneath the clutter of hands and legs and skin.

"Mmm, well," Louis says, his voice muffled by Tom's hair. Tom, pressed against Louis's chest, sighs and folds an arm around Zayn. "You I've got anytime. The fit bronze medalist isn't coming on tour with us."

Liam makes a displeased noise into the skin of Niall's throat. "I forgot about that."

"So you don't want what happened in the Village to stay in the Village?" Tom asks. Harry's eyes are fluttering closed, but he opens them to see Tom smiling slightly, his face half-hidden against Louis. "Because otherwise I do have Skype, you know. And a fairly loose schedule for a bit, now that the Games are over."

"I'd like to," Liam says softly. "If you want to. That all of you want to." 

Harry can practically hear him blushing. "I'd like to," he mumbles. He'd been hoping for eager, because that's how he feels about the idea of doing this again, but he's too sleepy, eyes falling closed against his will. He curls closer around Liam and the last thing he remembers is Liam's fingers light against his scalp. 

 

It's hot as fuck in his bed, Harry realizes, squirming and forcing one eye open. There's—his face is pressed into someone's chest, Liam's maybe, and there's someone else behind him, sort of diagonal and pressed into the space where Harry's got his legs curled up. He doesn't have a flood of memories rushing back or any sort of horror—should he be horrified? He isn't—but the pieces fit back together in his mind and he remembers everything. 

Did they decide they ought to do this again? He hopes so, but apparently the suspense wasn't enough to keep him awake. 

"Harry," he hears, looking up to see that Tom's leaned over and is watching him. Harry presses a finger to his lips—Liam's a light sleeper—and Tom smiles fondly. There's something in his eyes Harry can't quite read, affection and happiness and other things there aren't really any words for. 

Tom crooks his finger. Harry props himself up and leans forward; he does know how to take a hint, okay. Then Tom's kissing him, soft and slow and—not dirty or frantic, just sweet and comfortable. "Good morning," he whispers against Harry's lips, and Harry doesn't really have a choice except to press another quick peck to the corner of his mouth. “You should go back to sleep.”

“Why?” Harry asks, trying to muffle a yawn. “Are you going to sneak out when I’ve got my eyes closed?”

“No,” Tom says with another smile. The dimples really aren’t fair; Harry wonders if this is how other people feel when they look at him. “But you’ve got this performance tonight, I hear. Thought you might want to get some sleep before that.”

Harry feels his stomach drop a bit as he remembers that the Closing Ceremony is today. Not that he’s not excited, and not that it wasn’t amazing just to be asked, but—they’re performing on a moving truck in front of the whole world. If they fuck this up, it’s they’re not just making themselves or Simon look bad. It’s going to reflect badly on all of Great Britain.

In hindsight, he’s pretty sure that this is how they came up with the idea to sneak into the Athlete’s Village in the first place; the combination of nerves and missing Liam meant that they were basically desperate to come up with any sort of distraction.

It was a really, really great distraction, though.

“Oh, that,” he says mock-casually, hoping Tom hasn’t noticed the way he’s tensed. “I guess.”

“You’re going to be fantastic,” Tom says, brushing his hand over Harry’s arm. “All he talks about is how amazing you lot are, you know.”

“That’s just Liam,” Harry says, shrugging, but he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth are turning up. He should get Tom to reassure him before all his performances. Simon would pay him to do that, right? Harry could argue that it was important for his mental health.

“Well, I’ll be cheering no matter what,” Tom promises. “And maybe we could all meet up after, if you five aren’t too busy?” He looks almost hopeful, which is a little confusing; Harry doesn’t know what Tom could have to hope for about the five of them that isn’t already a guarantee. 

“I thought the athletes were all going to be doing something, after?” he asks. They’d discussed that days ago, how they’d be generous and let Liam run off with his Olympic friends after the Closing Ceremony, if he wanted. Liam’s never left them right after a show before, but they’d wanted to prepare themselves, just in case. 

Tom shakes his head, then nods. “I mean, yes, but you could come. I think some of the performers are. And he was always spending tonight with you four, anyway. That’s half the reason we made sure we got the room last night.”

“Oh,” Harry says, belatedly feeling guilty. Not too guilty, given how amazing last night had ended up being, but—well, if Tom and Liam had actually gone to the trouble of planning that out, and they didn’t know how long it’ll be before they see each other again—

“Not that I’m complaining,” Tom says, kissing Harry again, which is comforting. “But I thought, since last night happened, maybe I wouldn’t be unwelcome tonight? Not that I’m inviting myself, I mean, I understand if you want to be just the five of you.”

“Shut up,” Harry says delightedly. “Of course you should come with us, we’re not nearly done with you yet.”

“Both of you shut up,” Liam says with his eyes closed. “Obviously you’re coming with us tonight, Tom. I’d honestly be surprised if they didn’t try to pull you up onto the stage with us. They’re not very good at letting people go.”

“Yeah,” Tom says, his laugh barely audible. “I think I got that.”

“It’s part of our charm,” Harry murmurs, closing his eyes and settling down again. He ought to get a little more sleep, if they’re going to be performing and then having even more sex tonight.

“It does kind of grow on you,” Liam mumbles.

“Go back to sleep,” Tom says in a low voice. “You’ll still be codependent when you wake up in the morning.”

“And you’ll still be here?” Harry asks, shifting so Liam’s elbow isn’t pressing into his stomach.

“I’ll still be here,” Tom says.

“Good,” Harry says, already drifting off. He falls back asleep in a tiny bed crammed with five other people all sleeping practically on top of each other, noise already beginning to filter in from the hallway; he’s not sure why anyone would want to be anywhere else.


End file.
